Record One

3 min

An Announcement The Wisest of Lines A Poem

This is merely a copy, word by word, of what was published this morning in the State newspaper:

This is an exact, word-for-word copy of what was published this morning in the State newspaper:

“In another hundred and twenty days the building of the Integral will be completed. The great historic hour is near, when the first Integral will rise into the limitless space of the universe. A thousand years ago your heroic ancestors subjected the whole earth to the power of the United State. A still more glorious task is before you,—the integration of the indefinite equation of the Cosmos by the use of the glass, electric, fire-breathing Integral. Your mission is to subjugate to the grateful yoke of reason the unknown beings who live on other planets, and who are perhaps still in the primitive state of freedom. If they will not understand that we are bringing them a mathematically faultless happiness, our duty will be to force them to be happy. But before we take up arms, we shall try the power of words. “In the name of The Well-Doer, the following is announced herewith to all Numbers of the United State: “Whoever feels capable must consider it his duty to write treatises, poems, manifestoes, odes and other compositions on the greatness and the beauty of the United State. “This will be the first load which the Integral will carry. “Long live the United State! Long live the Numbers!! Long live the Well-Doer!!!”

“In another 120 days, construction of the Integral will be complete. The great historic hour is near. Soon the first Integral will rise into the limitless space of the universe. A thousand years ago, your heroic ancestors brought the whole earth under the power of the United State. An even more glorious task lies before you. With the glass, electric, fire-breathing Integral, you will integrate the indefinite equation of the Cosmos. Your mission is to bring the unknown beings on other planets under the grateful yoke of reason. Perhaps they still live in the primitive state of freedom. If they do not understand that we bring them mathematically faultless happiness, we must force them to be happy. But before we take up arms, we will try the power of words. “In the name of The Well-Doer, the following announcement is made to all Numbers of the United State: “Anyone who feels capable must consider it their duty to write about the greatness and beauty of the United State. Write treatises, poems, manifestoes, odes, and other works. “These works will be the first load carried by the Integral. “Long live the United State! Long live the Numbers!! Long live the Well-Doer!!!”

I feel my cheeks are burning as I write this. To integrate the colossal, universal equation! To unbend the wild curve, to straighten it out to a tangent—to a straight line! For the United State is a straight line, a great, divine, precise, wise line, the wisest of lines!

I can feel my cheeks burning as I write this. To integrate the enormous, universal equation! To straighten the wild curve into a tangent, into a straight line! The United State is a straight line, a great, divine, precise, wise line, the wisest of all lines!

I, D-503, the builder of the Integral, I am only one of the many mathematicians of the United State. My pen, which is accustomed to figures, is unable to express the march and rhythm of consonance; therefore I shall try to record only the things I see, the things I think, or to be more exact, the things we think. Yes, we; that is exactly what I mean, and “We” shall, therefore, be the title of my records. But this will only be a derivative of our life,—of our mathematical, perfect life in the United State. If this be so, will not this derivative be a poem in itself, despite my limitations? It will. I believe, I know it.

I, D-503, am the builder of the Integral. I am only one of the many mathematicians of the United State. My pen is used to figures and cannot express the movement and rhythm of harmony. So I will try to record only what I see and what I think. More precisely, I will record what we think. Yes, we. That is exactly what I mean, so “We” will be the title of my records. But these records will only be a derivative of our life, our mathematical, perfect life in the United State. If that is so, won’t this derivative be a poem in itself, despite my limitations? It will. I believe it. I know it.

I feel my cheeks are burning as I write this. I feel something similar to what a woman probably feels when for the first time she senses within herself the pulse of a tiny, blind, human being. It is I, and at the same time it is not I. And for many long months it will be necessary to feed it with my life, with my blood, and then with a pain at my heart, to tear it from myself and lay it at the feet of the United State.

My cheeks are burning as I write this. I feel something like what a woman probably feels when she first senses a tiny, blind human being pulsing inside her. It is me, and at the same time it is not me. For many long months, I will have to feed it with my life, with my blood. Then, with pain in my heart, I will have to tear it from myself and lay it at the feet of the United State.

Yet I am ready, as everyone, or nearly everyone of us, is. I am ready.

But I am ready, just as all of us, or nearly all of us, are. I am ready.